Media fast day 3

Elaine has been having bad dreams since starting the fast. We spent last night reading. 

A stream of conciousness exercise

In he midst of the dark heat, the mangrove moves into the boiling rocks. The rocks intrude into his ripples, muscles tensing and sweat wrung from pores aright. In the dark heat no water quenches, the pulls and prods of mad rails increases as the mangrove progresses. The images of past souls intrude in his mind and give strength to the mangrove as he reaches the valley and begins his climax. The place of the dark night is the place of testing, of crucibles and fire untainted. The mangrove sweats toxins and bleeds passion.  The place of the heat is the place nearest to his Lord. The breath of the lord makes the hills melt and the presence is so near that all else is obscured, the brightness of the Lord making the eyes see naught in the blaze.  The mangrove presses on, the hot wind scours his skin and removes layer after layer of growth, until from the mangrove appears a man, with skin like an infant and tender as the dawn.

Wailing cat heights.

In the beginning there was no way to determine how the place would respond to the harmonic disturbance caused by the wailing cats. Wailing cat was the nickname given to the sonic emitter designed by Doctor Bryson’s son’s uncle’s dog. Fido had taken a four in copper tube and wrapped it in wire, attaching the motor from an electric mouse play toy and a nine-volt battery. The wailing started small but it got him thinking. Soon he had attached his contraption to the empty plumbing of the vacant house next door. When he powered it on the vibrations created waves in the hardwood floors. Giddy, he created more emitters tying in the faulty wiring and ventilation systems of the old house.

Now here he was, wearing some old brass goggles he found at the junkyard, and his ears stuffed with the contents of three pillows, standing nervously shaking over the ignition switch. “One small step for dog…” he thought as he turned the crank and the vibrations began to crank up. The house became jello. The liquid convulsions of the structure made him want very badly to go for walkies. As he ran out of the house the substance of things seemed to be changing. The wood, while it looked like wood was rippling like water. The concrete blocks seemed to be melting and like sand dunes were piling in strange serpentine waves.

Fido made it out on to the street in time to see the very air making a run for it, tearing leaves from trees and leaving behind a sepia void. On the wave of destruction ran, and Fido ran barely ahead of it. He felt the hair on the tip of his tail flung from its place and he tucked it between his legs as he quickened his pace.

Suddenly he realized that the expanding bubble behind him had stopped. He spun around on the bank of a river to see the results of his handiwork. There behind him the neighborhood had become a large jello salad incased in a round jiggling mold. Creatures far and wide came to eat his hometown. The end.

Moon Fellowship beginnings

“It’s just not sustainable Ms. Slipstream,” said the dogged Col. Black of the National Aeronautics and Space Agency. “Congress has nixed any attempts at starting a colony on the moon. We cannot do it.”

“Zephyr, Zephyr,” called an excited Charles Halpern as he bounded in to the office. “Oh, excuse me Col. Black, but I have important news. Zephyr,” he continued turning to Zephyr Slipstream the young charismatic coordinator of the Moon Colonization Committee. “Dr. Jameson reports that they have located the perfect location for the colony’s base of operations, he calls it the peak of eternal light. It is a mountain at the north pole of the moon that is almost always in the sun’s light. The solar power would be constant!”

“There you see, Col. It can be done.”

“I’m afraid, that unless your project can serve some military purpose, congress just won’t buy it. We’ve known about the peak of eternal light for some time, but it is beyond the horizon from earth, making it unusable for military application. No, I’m afraid if you want to put a colony up there, you’re going to have to do it on your own.”

“No, not on my own,” Ms. Slipstream, her voice an offering to something bigger, “a group, a fellowship of scientists, explorers, families and worshippers.”

So began the moon fellowship.

Holy Guacamole

Once upon a time in the Kingdom Ruled by God there was a Happy Happy Princess with a flying horse named Ponya Omonia. One day it was getting to be about lunch time and the people of the land were hungry. They were really hungry in fact because they didn’t eat breakfast.

The food was on top of Mount Barabadu through the underbrush of Scarydipity. There in the underbrush of Scarydipity all manner of creatures lived, snakes, bears, coyotes, cougars, slugs and kitties. It was a frightening place to go. Some of the people of the land ventured in, but soon came running back out, pulling their heads and arms into their shirts like a turtle. The people of the town were so afraid they wouldn’t even look at the mountain, and by lunch time they had forgotten it was there and even forgotten they were hungry.

All that is except for the Happy Happy Princess. She knew God wanted her to eat. She also knew God wanted the people in the kingdom to eat too. She could see them all wandering about town holding tortilla chips, but they didn’t know what to do with them since they had nothing to dip them in.

Just then Ponya Omonia flew by with great news. On the top of Mount Barabadu she saw a great big bowl of Holy Guacamole. All that was left was to climb up the mountain and get it. She couldn’t fly them up because the underbrush of Scarydipity made it too hard to land. So they would have to climb.

The first time they started they reached the underbrush of Scarydipity at the foot of the mountain. They climbed up the first hill and looked down into a gully of tangled brush.
“What animals do you think live down there?” The Happy Happy Princess asked.
They stood there looking afraid to move for a while. Then they heard the voice of God calling, “Come farther in and farther up.”

It was like he was inviting them to the dinner table, his voice was sweet and welcoming. Ponya Omonia gave the Happy Happy Princes a nudge with her muzzle, and up they started climb.

The Happy Happy Princesse Zigged up the side of the mountain. The Happy Happy Princess Zagged up the mountain. Ponya Omonia zagged up the mountain. Ponya Omonia zagged up the mountian. Between stacks of snarled brush they zigged. Up sandy paths they zagged.

“My leggs are getting wobbly,” the Happy Happy Princess declared. Her legs didn’t want to move any more, they didn’t want to go up the mountain. Ponya Omonia looked over the side of the path. It was a long ways down. Her knees started to shake.

God’s voice came again. “Walk fearlessly my princess, Walk fearlessly my Ponya.”

So they stood up again and the looked farther in and farther up. It wasn’t far now. They pushed on. The Happy Happy Princess lifted up her leg and put it down in front of her. She put her hand on her knee and pushed her body up so her other leg came up too. She lifted and push, lifted and pushed.

Ponya Omonia made a steady, hard clop, clip, clop. Some times pushing the Happy Happy Princess up with her nose. For it is not good to climb a mountain alone.

Soon they were at the top of Mount Barabadu their fear was gone, and they hungered for the good things again. The Holy Guacamole was there, Ponya Omonia spread her wings and balanced the great bowl on her back and down the paths they slid.

When they got to the bottom the people at in the town looked up at them. The realized they were holding chips in their hands and looked back at the Guacamole. The surrounded The Happy Happy Princess and Ponya Omonia.

The happy Happy Princess no longer felt wobbly in her legs, the felt strong. Ponya Omonia no longer felt weak in the knees, instead her legs felt powerful. They had climbed Mount Barabadu, they had gone through the underbrush of Scarydipity, the had braved the wild animals, and walked God’s fearless path. They brought down the Holy Guacamole and reminded all the people to hunger for good things.

Hebrews (12:11-14) says:

11Now, discipline always seems painful rather than pleasant at the time, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.

12 Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, 13and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint, but rather be healed.

Day Two

Jeff shook himself out of the hold of Daya’s perfume and walked over to the computers to work. He broke out his assignment and tried to put his head together.

Daya walked into her house, and put her books into her room. She lived with her parents in the same house she lived in through high school. She sat down on the couch and turned on TVU Music videos. She curled her legs under her and opened a book. Soon she heard pots and pans rattling in the kitchen as her dad worked to prepare dinner.

“Dad do you need some help?”

“No, Daya,” He replied as a fresh crash interrupted him. “I’ve got it. How does chili sound tonight.”

Chili sounded great, a perfect addition to the fall color, the crisp air and the music of longing souls. The spiciness would awaken her tongue to life and the warmth of the broth would meet the back of her throat and warm the core of her heart. Daya had come to attend to her food, and every part of her life as a revelation of reality. There was a spirituality in food for her and every bite and smell would immerse her in the presence of something bigger than herself, something boundless. The smell of the onions her dad was sautéing entered her awakening her longing glands, a wave of sensuality flooded over her, neck down to her toes like a gentle caress.

Jeff ran from the library back down Norris to the coffee shop he worked at. His legs pumped hard, he had left his studies too late. His head bobbed and his eyes flitted. Between each word something else encroached the folds of his brain, jolting him out of his concentration. He shook his head and broke out of the cycle of thought and dissipation. Thats when he saw the time, and burst from the library.

His breath was coming sharp and his lungs ached from the cold air. His legs throbbed and burned, but he didn’t want to be late again. Only a couple blocks further and his legs were numb to the shock of the footfalls. He burst through back door, shoved his timecard into the slot, washed his hands, doubled over the trash barrel and threw up. He leaned against the wall giving his heart a chance to catch up to his breath. His chest heaved and ached as he went to the drawer and pulled out an apron. Tying it behind his back he walked to the front his forehead cold with sweat. He walked through the counter area and to the cafe not smelling the aromas of the coffee around him. He walked to the bus tub and tables left with their messes without seeing the eye of the people sitting without hearing the music they were listening to. He missed the goose-bumps and the faces glowing with warmth of the music. He missed others indifferent to the music, lost in their love affairs and friends.

Daya’s dad plopped down on the couch next to her with a sigh.

“Got her done?”
“It’s simmering,” he replied as he pushed his glasses up on his face, and ran his hand through his curly hair.

“Long day?”

“Yeah, every day with people, right?”

Daya just smiled. She knew her dad’s work was stressful. She could see on his face the weariness and the strength that he showed.

“Do you miss mom?”

“Of course I do, honey,” he said with a smile, and eyes of compassion.

“Do you think she’ll come home?”

“I don’t know, Daya, I pray that she does every day. I really love her, still.”

“Me too.”

Jeff’s body weighed a ton. His foot fell heavy on the pavement. Every crack caught his toe. He couldn’t seem to lift his foot more than an inch from the ground. A pain stabbed between his shoulder blade. His shoulders stooped and his head swayed bent low as he walked. The pack on his back felt as heavy as the weight on his mind and the lump of despair in his heart. He longed for life, to feel alive and awake, but only felt time slipping through his fingers, his body numb and tired. Even the crisp autumn air felt dull and stifling in his nostrils this night.

Jeff walked though the door of his house, the lights were out. He dropped his bag and called out, “Anyone here?” He flipped the light on.

“Turn that light off, and shut your flap-trap,” his dad growled with a slur.

Jeff caught a glimpse of blood shot watery eyes under a scowl and pulled back. He snapped the light off with an inaudible sorry. He turned around the corner heading for the bathroom and saw his mother sitting on the edge of her bed, her eyes were dark and sunken. Her cheeks stained with tears and mascara. He turned in to the bathroom and sat in the dark closed his eyes on the world and listened to the sounds of his families despair in the silence. He heard the soft heaving of his mother’s sobs. She’s at it again, he thought. She never seems to have anything to cry about and yet she spends all her time either in bed or crying. Then his ears perceived deeper into the silence the rough snoring of his dad on the couch in the next room. Then deeper still he heard the scratching of dead leaves across the street. All was quiet, empty and dead. His ears grew accustomed to the silence like nocturnal eyes on a moonless night, when an explosion overcame him, like a blinding headlights, his straining ears were overwrought and his whole scull rang with the sound. He jumped. His dad snorteld and shouted shrilly, “Shut off that damn noise!”

Slowly he came to realize that his phone was ringing.

“Hey man! There’s a party at Rotters field, you in?”

Jeff thought for a moment. He felt his numb body and listened to the silence of despair, the cacophony of emptiness around his house.

“Yeah, if you come get me. I’m in.”

Minuets later the tires of a 78 pinto was squealing its tires away from Jeff’s house. The field was lit with the headlights from a dozen cars. A bonfire lit the center.

day one

The terror alert level was raised to red today with the statement from the president indicating a terror network has been found within the border’s of our county,

“My Fellow americans, this threat has been around us and growing in strength for some time. Only recently have we understood the organization’s goals to undermine the systems that govern our nation and our world. That is why the department of homeland security has labeled this organization a terrorist organization. Rest assured…

Jeff turned off the T.V. And headed for the door, his peanut butter sandwich sticking to the roof of his mouth. He shouldered his bag and stepped lightly down the sidewalk. The blue sky and chirping birds spoke nothing of red terror alert levels, or new fears to beware. If Jeff was wary of anything it was the constant implication that he should be afraid. He wanted to live his life, experience life, seize life, not cower in fear from it. He was in the prime of hie days, the well spring of his life.

His foot falls echoed softly off the concrete. He ducked under a low hanging branch as he worked his way on. To the library and then on to the coffeehouse for work. He had his homework and that exam in freshman comp to study for. He turn up Norris with its row of trees marking the median, walking past the house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, the corner touched by modernism in this small town.

As Jeff walked into the library he bumped into a girl from the community college checking out her books. Daya had caught his eye in class before, and meeting her here so abruptly caused a jolt in his spleen. He often stared at the gentle curve to her neck as he sat behind her in biology, Her neck was steeled against the chill November air by a turtleneck, which hugged the rest of her and kept her quite warm. Her hair was up in the back as usual and Jeff stared at the wisps of dark hair that had fallen down around her ears.